//When you know Art, even Pain become Bliss// Thy neither bald nor gleaming lurk of light But of kind higher spike of Godly shine Thy neither Witt nor nothing, something of food Gleam more and more, the dullness soul Wilt sharpen ears of thy, for all of purest beings (Ponam at caption) Oh poesy faild all to mend thy only one, Devote tis walls of cleaved breathing song To thy, It singest peril echos thance The deathly mouths of questing life's to breath _None is hither there to mel'dy catch No artful gleaming beats nor witty balds All busy steps rat running for the paper world
